


Deconstructed

by Shadow_Side



Series: Disavowed [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, D/s, Dark fic, DarkPilot, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Interrogation, M/M, Mindfuck, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/pseuds/Shadow_Side
Summary: Being captured is one thing. Being broken is another. But wanting it? That's something else entirely.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'd always planned for _Disavowed_ to be a stand-alone, but then – rather a while back – Stiletto Ren and Mendressa asked for more. So I started it… and then Life happened.
> 
> But now, at last, I am back… with more! I hope it was worth the wait. I also repeat my earlier warning that I am still not the Good One.

There's a fine line between 'want' and 'need'.

Need is an impulse. Want is a choice. Sometimes one applies. Sometimes both do. And sometimes, the most crucial element is the point at which you slip from one to the other.

Like… this. Like a man, a _prisoner_ , on his back in a dark room, being all but fucked through the floor by his captor, his interrogator, his _torturer_. A man who should be fighting this with everything he is.

From the very start, Kylo Ren has slowly but surely made Poe Dameron _need_ this, building him up and up until that need became so overwhelming, it overrode everything else. Until what had started out as full-on _assault_ became something that Poe craved, gradually losing his mind with the desire that was finally pulled to the surface.

Until now. And now… now he lies, with Ren still on top of him, still inside him, and Poe knows he's lost.

In every sense of the word.

***

It's much later.

Probably. Trying to keep track of time when your entire life consists of a dark cell, a dark interrogation room, and occasional corridors in between, is not easy. Not even close.

Poe sits curled in the very corner of his cell, trying not to think. He's dressed again, but the fabric itself _hurts_ , as if he knows it doesn't hide what he's done. Doesn't hide the fact that he let… that he _begged_ … that…

He can't think it. Not really. Flashes of memory keep flaring in his mind, and he has to keep stamping them down, trying not to dwell on any one of them too long. Because, if he does, if he indulges those images…

_…Ren pressed in behind him, breath on his neck, hand on his cock, pulling him apart, giving him no choice…_

Poe thunks his head against the wall, trying to make it all stop. It doesn't. The slightest break in concentration, and the thoughts come back. The images. The _memories_.

The **need**. Poe can't switch it off. He knows, rationally, that this is bad, this is dangerous, this is _everything_ you shouldn't do, and yet he can't stop it. And not just the events themselves. He can't stop the need in his own body. The thoughts in his own head. Kylo Ren all but _raped him_ , and the only thing Poe can think, over and over, is that he needs it to happen again.

No. No! Yes? No. Something.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars. He's out of his mind. He must be. The damn Darksider has screwed with his head for days. Tortured him. Assaulted him. Made him…

_…cold floor beneath his back, the weight of the Force holding him down, the feeling of Kylo Ren on top of him, fucking him, **owning** him…_

"Stop…" he gasps out loud, smacking a hand into the wall.

But it won't. The thoughts won't stop. The images won't stop. The need certainly won't stop.

And it doesn't stop all night.

***

Poe spends the next day braced for what must surely be coming. It doesn't always happen at the same time, but it always happens: the Stormtroopers turn up, drag him out, and take him down to the interrogation rooms.

It always happens.

Only… not today. Poe keeps waiting, and waiting, and the troopers never come. Night rolls around and… nothing.

Nothing.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Ren already knows he's won. Knows Poe is broken. He's taken _everything_ from his prisoner, after all. Made him need, made him beg. Made him…

…no, no, no…

Maybe Kylo Ren is done with him.

And that thought? _That_ thought is torture.

Poe sits in his cell, trying not to think about it. He's not sure what's worse: the knowledge that he _does_ need this on some level, or the idea that it might be over. That Poe might just have been one in a long line of broken prisoners, pleading in the semi-darkness, and abandoned once their wills have shattered. That he's just a number to Kylo Ren. Just a notch on the headboard.

Just…

…No! No. What is _wrong_ with him? He's supposed to be strong, supposed to be _resisting_ , and instead here he is wondering if… if…

There's a sudden thunk, and the cell door snaps back with a metallic hiss. Poe looks up, and then _jumps_ up when he realises that the person standing in the doorway is Kylo Ren himself.

Poe's blood goes cold. And _hot_.

Ren takes a step forward, letting the door slide shut again behind him. It's hard to read him with that damn helmet in the way, but the moment he speaks, Poe can hear the wicked smile in his voice.

"Did you think I'd forgotten you?"

Before Poe can even try to formulate an answer, he's thrown against the back wall by a sharp push from the Force, slamming him into cold durasteel and holding him there. Ren doesn't even flinch as he does it, the gesture subtle and easy, though once Poe is held firm he moves in. Another flick of his wrist, and Poe's hands are dragged up above his head, still being pinned roughly against the wall.

He can't move. Can't fight. And his heart is _racing_.

"You did, didn't you?" Ren pushes, modified voice still so very level. "You thought I was done with you. You thought I had _taken_ all I wanted."

All Poe can do is stare back at him, trying to keep his own breathing as level as possible, trying to ignore the stab of arousal running through his blood, willing his body to stop betraying him.

" _Oh_ ," Ren breathes, and the pleasure in his voice is suddenly impossible to miss. "You really _did_ think I was done with you. And the thought was an _un_ welcome one…"

He steps in closer, gloved hand lifting to stroke over the front of Poe's throat. The sudden contact makes him jump – even though he could clearly see it coming – and he has to fight down a fresh flurry of reactions, of _arousal_ , at the touch.

"I'm not done with you," Ren tells him. "Not even close. Though the fact that you are already so receptive… now that will make this much easier for me. It can be easier for you, too, if you let it…"

That hand on Poe's throat tightens, making breathing rather more difficult, and he doesn't know what to do. He _doesn't_. If he gives in, he's _giving in_. If he fights…

…Wait, what? No! Of course he has to fight. He can't just _give in_ to the First Order. To the **Dark Side**.

"Stop," he chokes out. "Get away from me. Don't…"

The hand on his throat tightens even more, and Poe knows he's slipping into hypoxia, and… _it shouldn't feel like this, it shouldn't, it **shouldn't** …_

"It should," Ren says, and only now does Poe realise that the other man has been in his head, listening to his thoughts. "Let it. Give in. Give in, and I will show you how good this can be…"

"N-no," Poe manages, the world now starting to go hazy. "No… I…"

All of a sudden, Ren lets go of him – both the hand on his throat, and the grip of the Force holding him in place. Poe barely has a second to gasp in a lungful of air, to realise that he can move, before he's flipped around and slammed back into the wall face-first, not with the Force but from the other man's physical strength alone.

"You can fight this all you want, Dameron," Ren says, holding him in place. "You can fight, you can resist, but you can't change the fact that you _want it_."

"I don't," Poe insists, those words making his blood go cold all over again. Because… no. No. He doesn't _want_ it.

_Need is an impulse. Want is a choice._

"…Maybe you've made me need it on some level. But you can't make me _want_ it."

"I can," Ren tells him, flatly. Assuredly. "I _have_. **You do**."

"I don't. I don't… and you won't change that."

Ren leans in even closer. "I don't _have_ to change it. It's already true. But, by all means, continue to fight this. I _enjoy_ the fight. And you know what happened the last time you resisted me…"

Those words hit Poe hard, and for a moment he feels like his knees are going to give way. Because he _does_ remember. He remembers going insane with need, remembers being driven to the point where he literally begged for this.

"I can take my time with you," Ren says, almost idly. "We _both_ have more than enough of it, after all. And, sooner or later… you _will_ admit you want this. And it will be _true_."

Poe closes his eyes, shuddering at the thought, and scared that it's because he _does_ want it. "Please," he whispers. "Please don't do this…"

"Please _don't_?" Ren repeats. "That isn't what you were saying yesterday. _Not for long, at least_."

Poe feels a sudden, new push from the Force, holding him in place, and realising that this means the other man has his hands free again. One goes up to lace through his hair at once, pulling his head back, as Ren leans in so close that his helmet brushes the side of Poe's face. His other hand goes to Poe's hip, slowly stroking lower, pushing between his legs and making Poe gasp out loud.

" _Please_ ," he murmurs again, but… he isn't asking Ren to stop this time, and it's clear from his tone.

"Please _what_?" Ren demands. "Please _stop_? Please _don't stop_?"

"…Please don't stop…" Poe concedes, closing his eyes. Knowing he's lost.

Even through that damn helmet, he can hear the purr of delight at those words. "I think it's time you showed me a little more respect. So how about ' _Please don't stop, **sir**_ '?"

The words are like a punch to the gut, and Poe isn't sure how his legs _don't_ give way at that. He isn't going to say it. Is not. He won't, he won't, he…

The hand between his legs slows, and starts to pull back.

" _Please don't stop, sir_ ," he gasps out, before he can prevent it.

"Good," Ren tells him, as his hand slides lower once more, resuming that slow, maddening, over-clothes stroking that just makes Poe need… need…

"Ask me," Ren says, without explaining himself, and Poe is sure the man has just been in his head again. "If you _want_ something, Dameron, _ask me_."

Words are rapidly becoming difficult. "I… more, please… please…"

"Please **what**?"

" _Pleasesir_."

"That's better," Ren says, as he works on undoing the fastening of Poe's pants, pushing his gloved hand deep inside. "That's better. You'll learn…"

And he starts to stroke him, slow and firm, the feeling of rough leather on his cock slowly driving Poe right out of his mind. He doesn't fight it, not in the slightest. He needs it. He w–

…no, no, _no_ …

"…and you _will_ admit it. Maybe not right now, but you will. And you'll mean it, when you do."

"Oh fuck…" Poe chokes, a renewed shudder running through him at that; at the implications, at the certainty in the other man's voice. "…Fuck… please… I…"

"I could undo you right here," Ren says. Reminds him, really. "Right here, up against the wall in your own prison cell. Is that what you need? Is that what you _want_?"

Saying 'yes' would not be full acquiescence… but it would be close.

It would also be true.

"Y-yes," Poe whispers, closing his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"I thought so," Ren replies. "Then you should have done as I told you from the start."

And the man lets go of him at once – physically, and through the Force – before stepping away. Poe gasps like he's been hit in the chest, barely keeping his feet, and not daring to move as a wave of sick, desperate need burns through him.

"Remember that, next time," Ren says, and turns without another word. The door snaps open at his approach and, in seconds, it has thunked shut behind him, leaving Poe alone.

When he is, he sinks to his knees against the wall, dishevelled, shaking, and still achingly hard. He _needs_. He needs so much, he can't think in straight lines. And what he needs is wrong, and dangerous, and everything he _should not do_.

And he still needs it. And w–

 **No**.

Yes.

***

Even by recent standards, that night is a special kind of torture. Poe sleeps fitfully, his dreams disjointed and full of the same need that burns through him every time he wakes. The next day is no better, and once again no one comes for him.

Not until the night.

But it isn't Kylo Ren this time. When the door slides back, there are two Stormtroopers on the other side, and Poe's heart lurches with alarm as they seize hold of him, cuffing his wrists tightly in front of him and dragging him out.

That's when he realises something is really going on. The troopers don't head down towards the interrogation suites, and instead start leading him briskly through the ship, hustling him along when he doesn't move fast enough for their liking. There aren't many other people around, though the few they pass pay them no mind.

And then… they reach a door, at the end of a long passageway, and one with little else around it. One of the troopers steps up and _knocks_ , and that's when it dawns on Poe that _these are someone's quarters_.

And when he realises whose they must be.

The door springs back, and Kylo Ren is on the other side, a swirl of black menace and threat. He looks at Poe from behind that helmet for a moment, and then turns his attention to the troopers.

"Well done. I'm sure I can count on your continued discretion."

"Of course, sir," the man on Poe's left answers.

Ren puts a hand out to pull Poe into the room and – still in shock – Poe doesn't resist. The two troopers give a nod and depart, the door snapping shut again and leaving Poe… _here_. Here, in Kylo Ren's quarters. They're very much what he expected: spartan, and grey, and impersonal, as though the man's real self isn't represented in this place at all, and…

…OK, seriously, stop overthinking it…

Poe doesn't have long to do so, however, because within a few seconds he feels a sharp Force-kick to the back of his legs, and before he knows it he's on his knees.

This is bad. Is this bad? It has to be bad. Right? Or… maybe…

He doesn't quite dare move, keeping his head lowered. Ren walks off to the side, and Poe hears the clickhiss as the man takes his helmet off, setting it down and then pacing back over. Two fingers slip under Poe's chin, and Ren tilts his jaw up, meeting his eyes.

"Listen very carefully," the Darksider starts out. "You're going to do as I say. You're going to tell me the truth when I ask for it. If you obey… this will end well for you. If not… it will still end well for _me_. Do you understand?"

Poe's blood is burning again. He should be fighting this. But he needs… he _needs_ … he… w–

"…Yes," he whispers, caught in the other man's gaze.

Those fingers under his jaw tighten, forcing his head back further. "Yes _what_?"

Fuck. " _Yes, sir_." Just being made to say it sends a shiver running through Poe, making him need all the more.

Ren smiles. "That's better…" His hand slides out from under Poe's jaw, though Poe doesn't drop his head again, which means he can see the look in Ren's eyes as the man keeps that hand close to the side of Poe's head, and…

He feels the slow, insidious _push_ into his mind, and he gasps, wavering on his knees, suddenly unable to look away.

"You know I can hurt you," Ren reminds him, softly. Unmasked, unaltered, his voice is still strangely hypnotic, and Poe finds himself caught by it. "But you also know I can do the opposite…"

The slightest flick of a wrist, and the presence in Poe's mind – neutral, to begin with – turns all at once into a bright, hot wave of pleasure, coursing through his body. It's quick and short, but the shock of it still makes him whimper in response. He manages, somehow, to keep staring up at the man standing over him, eyes silently pleading for… for something.

For _more_?

Ren headtilts. "Did you like that?"

Some lingering resistance in Poe makes him want not to answer, even though it's obvious from his reaction what the truth is. He can't quite summon up the energy to say _no_ , so he remains silent, still staring upwards.

Another flick of the wrist, and Ren immediately sends a second wave of feeling running through Poe. But it hurts this time. It _hurts_ , and it makes him gasp in response, closing his eyes and trying to fight it off.

He can't, of course.

"Perhaps you would prefer it to hurt instead?" Ren asks, his voice still so very level. "You do seem to be the type…"

On some level, Poe _does_ want it to hurt instead. Not because he enjoys it ( _enjoys_ it? What an insane idea) but because the pain makes sense. It feels _normal_. It is how things should be, between the two of them. It…

…How long has there been such a thing as 'the two of them'?

The pain dials up again, stronger this time, and Poe drops his head, trying to coast out the slow wave of hot agony. His whole body goes tense, shoulders shaking with the effort of not making a sound, not begging for mercy, no, no, no, no…

"… _Please_ ," he whispers. "Please, _sir_. No more pain. No more…"

He feels Ren pull suddenly out of his mind, before those fingers slip under his jaw and tilt his head back again. Poe doesn't quite dare meet the other man's eyes, but the quiet smile of victory on Ren's lips is more than enough.

"You would prefer pleasure then?" the Darksider asks. "Is that what you _want_ , Poe Dameron?"

It is. That's the problem. It _is_.

" _Yes, sir_ ," he whispers, eyes closed, his cheeks flushing at the admission.

"Good," Ren says, and Poe can hear the victory, the _pleasure_ , in his voice as he does. "Good. Look at me."

Somehow, Poe manages it, though the eye-contact almost hurts when he makes it.

"I told you I can make this good for you," Ren reminds him, levelly. "I meant it."

He strokes his hand up from Poe's jaw, over the side of his face and through his hair, and the touch… the touch is almost _gentle_ , sending a slow wave of sensation through Poe. And that, he's sure, is nothing to do with the Force.

"I also told you that you're mine. That you belong to me. I meant that, too. I think it's time I proved it."

Some small part of Poe keeps trying to resist. But the rest? The rest… _wants_.

He can't deny it any longer. Though it will take more of a push to make him actually say the word out loud.

Ren waves a hand, and the cuffs fall from Poe's wrists all at once, clattering to the deckplates. This takes him by surprise, but he doesn't have long to muse on it, because the other man speaks soon after. "Stand up."

He can feel the weight of Ren's gaze on him as he does, rising to his feet. As soon as he has, that hand goes back under his jaw, thumb brushing over his chin, and it's so strangely _intimate_ that Poe's breath catches. Ren stares at him for a moment, as if contemplating, and then, all of a sudden, he takes hold of Poe and slams him firmly into the nearest wall.

The move takes him by surprise, and instinct makes him try to resist, but Ren simply takes hold of his wrists and pushes them into the wall either side of his head. "Keep your hands there," he says. "If you don't… this will go a different way. Is that understood?"

His voice is insidious and overwhelming, and Poe finds himself nodding. "Yes, sir," he answers.

The taller man smiles. "Good. Now…"

He pushes his hand down between them, stroking his hand over the front of Poe's pants, and the pilot's mind goes stratospheric. This is…

_…wrong, wrong, wrong, so very wrong… so very… very… but he needs it, he needs it, he w–_

"Say it," Ren pushes, and Poe isn't sure if the man has been in his mind again, or if he just _knows_. "Come on, Poe. Say it."

That use of his first name makes Poe feel like he's been hit squarely in the chest. Ren has called him by his full name a number of times, but his _first_ name, _just_ his first name, is so… familiar, so personal. For a moment, he can hardly breathe, and then Ren puts his free hand on Poe's jaw again, staring right at him.

" _Say it_." Soft and sure. No force, and no _Force_.

"… _I want this_ ," Poe whispers. He can't drop his head, so he closes his eyes, burning with the admission. It hurts, to know he's said it. To know he's _broken_. But it is also… liberating. In the strangest, most dangerous way.

"I know you do," Ren tells him. "I knew from very early on. And I knew that making you admit it would be a far greater prize than any intel you could provide. Now… say it again. _But don't forget the 'sir' this time_."

Poe's knees almost give way at that, and he has to fight to keep himself upright, to keep his hands in place. " _I want this, sir_ ," he says.

The words, from his own lips, hit like a slap to the face. But, like the first time, he feels a weight lift as he says them. And… something more. Surrendering is supposed to be bad. It is not supposed to feel…

… _good_.

"That's it," Ren tells him. "That's it. You want this. And I can make it good for you. I can trip through your senses, letting you feel pleasure that goes beyond the physical. I can take all the pain you've felt since Jakku, and make it go away. I can let you rest, let you sleep. Let you finally _breathe_. And all you have to do is give in to me…"

No. No, no, no… it's wrong, it's wrong, he shouldn't… he _can't_ … he…

Ren's hand slips under his jaw again. "I know you're scared. You ought to be. I can do _anything_ I want to you right now, and there is _nothing_ you could do to stop it. **Nothing**. But… on some level, you like that thought, don't you?"

Poe tries to look away, but Ren won't let him. "Answer me," the Darksider pushes, soft and dangerous, in the tone that does things to Poe that he simply isn't prepared for.

He can't. He can't say it.

But… it's true. Isn't it? And he's all but admitted it already, and…

Why does Ren keep making him say it?

"I see you need further motivation," the other man remarks. "Very well. If it's motivation you require, I will give it to you…"

He lifts his hand close to Poe's head, and the pilot braces for more pain… but, instead, he feels a rush of overwhelming _blackness_ overtake him, and he slips from consciousness at once.

***

When Poe slowly starts to come to, he's aware of very little to begin with. There's lingering pain in his head, more of a dull ache than anything else, and he can feel a similar, low ache in his wrists, too, and his shoulders, and…

The world intrudes rapidly when he starts to process what's going on. He's flat on his back, arms stretched and spread above his head and tied firmly in place. And he's completely naked.

 _Completely_ naked.

What's more, the thing he's lying _on_ is clearly a bed. Poe's heart starts to race, a mixture of fear and _anticipation_ and fuck, fuck, he really is lost, isn't he?

The voice cuts into his mind before he realises he isn't alone. " _Comfortable?_ "

The first time the other man tried that line on him, Poe was quick to retort. But, right now, he can't find the words. He is naked and helpless and _tied to Kylo Ren's bed_.

Ren moves closer when Poe doesn't answer. He's wearing rather less now, too: only his pants, which means his torso is bare, and _fuck_ , but he's beautiful: all lean lines and careful power. And under other circumstances, Poe might take a moment – or longer – to admire the view, but he has rather more pressing concerns right now.

"I asked you a question," Ren reminds him, climbing onto the bed and slipping on top of him, making Poe's heart start to race as he feels warm skin against his own.

"I…" The words won't form. And Poe is suddenly afraid of the consequences.

Fingers lace through his hair, holding firm but not actually hurting him. "You're still afraid. I can sense it. You should be. But… that isn't all you have to feel…"

A slow, slow push into his head, and Poe can't stop himself gasping as he processes it, pressing his eyes shut in response.

"Is that good?" Ren all but purrs, so close that his words are a breath across Poe's lips.

It is. When the other man isn't trying to hurt him – which he isn't, not now – that presence in Poe's head feels very different. It's firm, and insistent, and he can't fight it, but there's no pain. It's… like being fucked, and more so when it _moves_ ; when he can feel Ren tripping different mental pathways, ratcheting his feelings up.

"What do you want from me?" Poe manages, trying to meet Ren's eyes. Still desperately trying to understand _what this is_.

"Isn't it obvious?" the man on top of him replies. Answering a question with a question. Again. "I want to fuck you. I want to take you. I want to claim you." The fingers in his hair tug a little tighter, making Poe bare his throat. " _I want you to understand that I own you_."

The words are like being punched in the gut, and Poe gasps like this is precisely what's happened. Why does this make him _need_ , the way it does? Why does it make him **want**?

"It's already happening, you know," Ren goes on, slow and easy, a man with all the time in the galaxy. "You fought hard at first. I would have expected nothing less. But you're falling, now. Falling under my will. Under my _control_. And every time you fight it, every time you make me push _harder_ , you make it easier to push _you_ **deeper**."

This sparks a little flare of resistance in Poe's chest, far too late for him to realise that this is _exactly_ what Ren wants. "…I won't give in to you. Not _truly_ …"

"You already have. And you know it. The only step left is for you to accept it."

"N-no… I…" Poe tries to find the words, tries to argue against what the other man is saying, but… he can't. He can't. Because it's true. His eyes close in something like shame, in surrender, which means he jumps rather more than he otherwise would when Ren pushes a hand between his legs. Firm, sure fingers wrap around his cock, stroking up and down a couple of times; enough to make Poe's eyes open wide, staring up at the man on top of him in a mixture of terror and _desperate_ longing.

" _Yes_ ," Ren counters, easily. "Yes. Let this happen, Poe. Let yourself sink deeper and deeper under my will…"

His first name, again. It's so _intimate_. This is not how it's supposed to go. Your captor is not supposed to breathe your name like he _wants_ you.

But he is. And Poe can feel how easy it would be, to give in, to sink, to surrender. To feel something other than pain and fear.

He nods. It's a tiny, subtle little gesture; an acquiescence greater than anything else he's said thus far, and he knows it. Ren obviously knows it too, given the look in his eyes as he leans in closer, hand still on Poe's cock and stroking firmly.

"Yes," he breathes. "Yes. That's it. How does that feel?"

Wrong, it feels wrong, so wrong; wrong, wrong, wrong… he shouldn't want it, he shouldn't, he _shouldn't_.

He does.

"It feels good," Poe whispers, and fuck, but his voice is shaking.

"Do you want more?"

All Poe can do is nod, but it obviously isn't enough, and Ren leans in closer. "Say _please_."

"… _Please_ …"

Ren gives him an arched look, and Poe can't help biting his lip when he realises _why_.

" _Please, sir_."

It's certainly worth it. Ren smiles in obvious triumph, and immediately starts to stroke him harder: hard enough that Poe rocks his head back, gasping at how damnably _good_ it feels.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" Ren all but purrs, in his ear. "I'm going to take you right to the edge. _Right_ to the edge. Close enough that you can feel it; close enough that you can _taste_ it. And then I'm going to **stop**. You remember what that feels like, don't you?"

Poe manages a nod, unable to keep the alarm out of his eyes. He can't go back to that torment. He _can't_.

"And then…" the Darksider goes on, his words silken poison in Poe's ear, "…you're going to beg me to fuck you. And, if you do, I _will_. And I will **not** stop until you have come _**screaming**_."

All Poe can do is nod again, and hope Ren means what he's saying.

The hand between his legs starts to stroke harder, firmer, and Poe can't help crying out at the way it feels, at how much he needs it. How much he _wants_ it. He stares desperately up at Kylo Ren, a pleading look in his own eyes, his body already shaking somewhat from the ever-building pleasure.

"That's it. That's it. Lose yourself in how good it feels. In how strongly you want it. Let the need roll through you, let it fill you up… let yourself _give in_ …"

Poe is. He's not thinking about how wrong this is, or how much he should be fighting it. He's thinking how much he needs it, wants it, _craves_ it. Craves the feeling, craves the attention.

And Ren is pulling him apart, slowly but surely, that hand on his cock knowing precisely how to play him, how to make him whimper, and gasp, and fight not to scream. He's so close. So close, so…

He realises what's coming – or _not_ coming – seconds before it happens. Seconds before the stroking stops, and Ren lets go of his cock, and frustration alone makes Poe cry out.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps, "don't stop… please… I…"

The other man doesn't even say a word. He just looks at Poe, and the weight of his stare is so much that it feels as though he's flat-out kneeling on Poe's chest, rather than half-curled over him, skin-to-skin, intoxicating and maddening and… and…

 _Fuck_. Poe remembers what Ren said. He tries to look away, but the other man turns his head back, thumb under his jaw.

"Say it," the Darksider pushes, softly. _Triumphantly_. Because there's no way Poe can stop now, and he knows it, and they both know it.

"…Please," Poe whispers, and his voice is shaking. "Please fuck me, sir."

Ren looks like a man who just won the whole galaxy. Like you could offer him a thousand planets, and he'd still want _this_ more. "Again."

Poe feels his cheeks flush. "Please fuck me, sir."

The hand under his jaw holds a little tighter. " _Why_?"

And Poe is lost. "Because I need it. Because… because… _because I want it_."

"That's right," Ren tells him. "That's right. You want it. Because you're _mine_."

A tiny little nod. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Ren breathes, utterly victorious. "Good."

He's still partly dressed, but makes light work of it, slipping out of the last of his clothes and tossing them off the bed, before reaching to pull a bottle of lubricant from the drawer on the closer nightstand. He slicks his cock with it, and then two fingers, moving them between Poe's legs and pushing the first into him.

" _Oh_ ," Poe murmurs, lost. "F-fuck… please…"

"How does that feel?" Ren asks, his voice cutting through the renewed haze in Poe's mind.

"Feels… feels… _goodfeelsgoodpleasemore_."

Even with his eyes jammed shut, Poe can hear the smile in Ren's voice as he speaks again. "I know it does. I know. What about this..?"

The finger inside him is joined by a second, both of them twisting as Ren pushes deeper, and then they suddenly scissor apart, making Poe's hips jerk upwards, a desperate cry slipping his lips.

" _Please_ ," he gasps, lost in need, eyes open to stare pleadingly at the man on top of him. "Please… please…"

The haze in Poe's mind seems to be spreading wider, engulfing the room, leaving him at its very core, here in the moment, and all else is gone.

"That's it," Ren breathes, leaning to speak close to Poe's ear. "That's it. No more fighting. You can't win. You're mine now. Let yourself fall apart. I know _just_ what to do with the pieces…"

And Poe _can't_ even fight it. All he can do is cry out in need again, as those two fingers stroke tantalisingly inside him, making him tug on his bound wrists – not because he's trying to break free, but because the tension flooding out through his body has to run to ground somewhere.

When Ren finally pulls his fingers back, Poe can't suppress a whimper, his cheeks flushing as he realises how needy he sounds. The man on top of him smiles, expression triumphant and _pleased_.

"Beg me again," he says, easily.

"… _Pleasefuckmesir_ ," Poe manages, staring up at him, eyes wide and desperate and – though he doesn't realise it – pleasure-shot.

And Ren all but bends him in half, lifting his legs up with a hand behind each knee, spreading him wide and sliding into him, burying himself balls-deep in the man bound to his bed.

" _Oh **fuck**_ ," Poe gasps.

"Is that good?" Ren asks him, with the look of a man who knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that it _is_.

"Yes. _Yes_."

A firm hand goes under his jaw, demanding eye-contact. "Yes _what_?"

" **Yessir**."

"That's better. You'll learn. Now… I think it's time you screamed for me…"

That hand goes to the side of his head and – before Poe knows it – Ren has pushed inside his mind. It's a firm, neutral presence at first, but one that rapidly ratchets up to something much more intense, and something oddly unlike anything Ren has done thus far. He's used the Force to hurt Poe, and he's used the Force to flood him with pleasure, but this… this is _both_ : rolling, roiling waves of pleasure and pain, alternating and intertwining, beyond what his mind can process completely.

And, not letting up the mental interplay, Ren starts to fuck him, firm and slow at first, but getting gradually faster and faster with every shunt of his hips.

And it feels fucking amazing. That's the hardest part. Even lost in a mental haze of bliss and anguish, helpless beneath the man who tortured and assaulted him… Poe can't deny how good this feels.

 _How much he wants it_.

"That's it," Ren breathes across his lips. "That's it. Give in to me. Give in completely. You're mine. You're _mine_. Say it."

" _I'm yours_."

He is. And he knows it. And it's terrifying.

"I'm so close," Poe gasps. This is also true. The pleasure – and pain – tripping through him would be enough on their own, as would the firm, relentless fucking. But couple either of those with the fact that Kylo Ren has already tormented him to near-breaking point and the pleading is inevitable.

Factor in all three things, and it's a wonder he can still _see_.

"I know," Ren tells him, easily. "I know. But if you come without my permission, I will hurt you in ways you can't even _imagine_. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Poe answers, very quickly. "Yes. Yes. I understand."

"Good, good. Now… I'm going to take what I want from you. I'm going to take everything."

And he starts to fuck Poe in earnest, one hand bracing himself on the bed and the other keeping Poe spread wide, driving into him over and over – and each thrust seems to be pushing Poe further and further out of his own head. The sensation – and it is just sensation now, pleasure and pain having melded into one single thing – builds and builds, and Poe doesn't know how he's managing to hold back, just that he is, and he can't think, and he's lost, and he needs needs needs needs _wants_ this beyond sense or reason.

" _Come for me_ ," Ren growls in his ear. "Come and know you _want it_."

It's all the permission Poe needs. The words have barely slipped his captor's lips before he's coming so hard the world goes black, screaming in release and desperation, his body nigh-on convulsing in Kylo Ren's grip as completion thunders through him.

He drops back when it's over, washed-out and exhausted, knowing that the other man isn't done with him yet. It doesn't take much else, though: a few firm, rough thrusts, and Ren spills inside him with a gasp, holding onto Poe as his own climax overtakes, riding out every last wave and then going still.

"Good," he breathes, after a moment. "That was good." Ren slips his hand under Poe's jaw again, wordlessly demanding eye contact. "Of course… this is just the beginning. But isn't it so much better when you admit what you want?"

And Poe nods, terrified all over again by the realisation, and by the knowledge that he means what he's saying. "Yes," he manages. "Yes, sir."

It's been inevitable from the start. Since he was left behind. Since he was disavowed. Since Kylo Ren broke him down, piece by piece, only to build him up again, like this.

But all roads led here.

Need is an impulse. Want is a choice.

And Poe made his long before he knew it.


End file.
